Ianto Makes Lists
by ethelbertina
Summary: a/n: There are bunnies all around me, but this one had me wondering about why Ianto would change into a suit to capture a pterodactyl. It sorta went from there. Rather a fluffy bunny, but with a few dark spots. Spotted plot bunny?


I Can't Exactly Send Him My Resume Can I?

Ianto made lists. He made them all the time, on scrap paper, in his diary, in his head, on his phone. As he sat in his empty flat he was assessing his current to do list scrawled on some takeaway napkins: Ways to get a job at Torchwood Three.

Attempt Number One. Late Night Sex.

Results -- Failure.

_(Odd that, Ianto mused, those jeans in a park late at night had never let him down before…)_

Attempt Number Two. Daylight. Coffee. The Direct Appeal.

Results -- Also a Failure.

_(And really, it should have worked. The coffee nearly always worked if the jeans didn't.)_

Seduction. Begging. Neither had been terribly effective, so Ianto had gone back to making lists. He was desperate and getting more so all the time. Nothing he had come up with seemed to be a reasonable way of getting Captain Jack Harkness to give him a job.

He knew enough about the man from his time at Torchwood One to know that Attempt Number One should have worked. He'd rooted around in his closet and put together an outfit that said "Hi. I'm adorably shaggable, and you are?" But the elusive Captain had hardly given him a second glance. A first one yes. That much had worked, but the Captain had displayed a totally unexpected reaction when Ianto went to touch him. _(Had he imagined that wound, he wondered, for there was blood, but from where?) _He had not expected the man to behave in a manner Ianto could only classify as "skittish."

Impatience had been the Captain's response to Attempt Number Two. Denial. Contempt even. And Ianto had been lost. He could keep going back, day after day until he wore the Captain down, or the Captain shot him. What else was there? Drugs, Weapons … the Truth?

No. Torchwood would kill her if they knew.

Ianto had fallen asleep at the table, head resting on his arms, when a beeping noise awakened him. He grabbed the detector from under a pile of papers, and tried to scan the readout through sleep fogged eyes. There was Rift activity in a warehouse in what Ianto recognized as an industrial zone by the waterfront. Readings indicated not only a large surge in the Rift, but the presence of non-human DNA.

Instinctively, Ianto had grabbed his jacket and was out the door scanning the data stream to try and get a better fix on the location of what he could only assume was an alien. Years of working for Torchwood One had drilled this response into him. Chase. Capture. Contain. Kill and Catalog. _(Where would I be now if I had completed that field agent training course before the battle he found himself wondering) _ Ianto was speeding across town trying to drive and analyze the data stream at the same time before he realized that this alien might just be the answer to his problem.

Attempt Number Three: Manners Dictate You Bring the Host a Gift.

If he could just contain the thing, and get Torchwood Three's leader to the location, perhaps he could impress him enough to finally land the job that would be the solution to his very real, very pressing problem. The rational part of his brain that wasn't drowning in terror knew that he'd be a good employee for Torchwood. He had skills they could use. He tried not to think about all the ways in which he planned to use Torchwood in return.

It had been almost too easy to get into the abandoned warehouse where the readings were strongest. But it had been difficult to accept what he'd seen when he'd made his way into the Loading Bay. He knew he was standing in a warehouse in Cardiff, but flying over his head was a pterodactyl. _(__pterodactyloid. Genus __Pteranodon if one wanted -- needed -- to be precise.) _

The clear-headed quick thinking part of Ianto's brain kicked into overdrive. Right. Well then. If this was his third, and possibly final attempt, then he was determined to make the best impression he could. As he drove back to his flat, he went over everything he would need.

Ianto pulled his newest suit out of his closet. It was a charcoal grey suit with a bit of a sheen to it. Pulling on a light blue shirt, he slipped into the suit, and then selected a dignified dark blue tie with a small pattern to it. He gave his best shoes a quick buff and as he stood in front of his mirror adjusting his tie he thought he looked better than he'd looked in a long while.

He dashed into the kitchen and searching for anything that might come in handy. There was almost nothing in the cupboards, but he did find a large bar of dark chocolate which he couldn't remember purchasing. It was better than nothing, so he stuck it in his inside suit pocket and dashed back out to his car.

Torchwood Cardiff would almost certainly be tied into the police scanners, so a call (or two) for help to the emergency number from an excitable Welsh security guard describing man eating aliens would be ignored by the Police, but would surely peak Torchwoods interest. He could only hope that Jack would be the one responding. This late at night there was every chance, and Ianto had to take it. He smiled when the dispatch operator thanked him, and then advised him to sleep it off and she was sure the aliens would be gone by morning.

He had given the dispatcher the address of the cross-street nearest the warehouse, and he waited there now, hoping against hope that this crazy plan of his would work. But amazingly, Captain Jack had come to the rescue, screeching to a halt in front of Ianto who stood calmly in the middle of the street. There had been ranting, and raving, and threats of bodily harm, but Ianto had been brought up polite, and had been taught smoothness by the bureaucratic hierarchy of Torchwood One. After Yvonne Hartman, Jack Harkness was merely a naughty puppy that needed to be taken for a walk.

When he was able to finally able to get a word in, in a tone that managed to be both bored and contemptuous he asked the Captain. "So you're not going to help me catch this pterodactyl then?"

From there on it was a bit of a whirlwind. Giant hypodermics filled with sedative. Wings flapping. Crashing. Rolling. Panting Breaths. The smell of the Captain's aftershave. _(That was aftershave, right? 51__st__ Century pheromones my ass. Did that line really work on anyone?)_ God, that smell. And finally, a miracle. A job.

Attempt Number Three. Result – success.

But Ianto hardly allowed himself to think about his success. He had more lists to make.


End file.
